Moments
by MikaelaLynn
Summary: It is not time for Loki to be King. It is time to rest in the peace that false death brings. [FrostIron]
1. Loki

There is a moment and then there is _the _moment. A moment is the clink of a scepter against an electromagnet and a hand on a neck as a man is tossed from his tower. A moment is two brothers fighting on a bridge between worlds and later on the rooftops of a magnificent and burning city. A moment with someone is differentiated from _the _moment by the way it passes. It is fleeting and shallow, not heavy enough to leave a mark which must be tended to and thought over at a later time. It is a heartbeat or a blink of an eye. In the grand scheme of a life and in the threads of a friendship or hatred it will mean nothing when it is remembered. _The _moment will mean everything.

With Thor it was that terrible moment when Loki felt death grip him. It was as the darkness stained his ivory skin and as the cold of Svartalfheim finally gripped his heart. The truest and most important moment in their brotherhood was the moment when Loki apologized for it all in the quick, desperate breaths of a dying man. When he acknowledged his foolishness. Even though he had known that death would not hold him for long – no, no, Loki was far too resourceful for death to have him – Loki had grasped the tattered edges of his relationship with his elder brother and mended them. He had calmed the fires of the burning bridge.

_The _moment was when his hate for Thor died with him and did not rise again in his revival.

With his brother's tears still wet on his face, Loki instead turned his emerald eyes back to Asgard and away from Midgard, the wretched planet Thor loved so much. He would under the guise of another and abruptly force his once-Father into Odinsleep. He would hide the All-Father away and steal his face and memories. He would take the time to soothe Thor's wounds when he returned, reveling in the glory of his kingship all the while. But when the loveable oaf of a Prince was gone to find comfort in his Lover's arms, Loki would descend into the vaults of Asgard.

There he would reclaim the Casket of Winters and the staff of the Tesseract. The first was his by birthright, the stolen weapon of his true Father returned to his hand. The second was his by blood and tears. He had suffered what felt like a millenia before Thanos had entrusted him this lethal weapon. He had fought with the Chituari to take away Midgard from Thor as a child steals his brother's toys. But he had also done it to put distance between himself and those wretched leaders he had been bound to. For all the tortures the Asgardians and Odin had put him through, his one and true torturers were those he had been allied with before.

With these weapons in hand Loki would leave Asgard.n Odin would wake once the God of Mischeif was spirited away through one of his secret tulnnels. He would know nothing of Loki's survival or what had transpired during his sleep. Yes, the throne had been vulnerable. It had been Loki's. But now was not the time to try and claim it. Now was the time to rest.

Under the cover of darkness and with the protection of a false death, Loki would hide in plain sight upon the soils of Midgard.


	2. Stark

Stark's interfaces and inventions were clever. Loki had to admit that. But they were not clever enough to detect and interfere with his magic.

He had concluded that this new monument had been built to stroke the billionaire's ego. It was a magnificent building erected upon the site of the former one, stretching higher into the skies so that it might just hope to scrape the heavens above. Loki stood on the roof of it in idle thought, perched on the edge as he overlooked the city around him. Memories of fire and Chitauri and chaos flashed before his eyes, but yet this testament to Midgard still stood. They had rebuilt and restored. The people had returned to calm, soothed by the promise of men in Iron and of a Patriot to protect them. It seemed more faith resided in the Patriot these days – the commonfolk were under the impression that the other hero had retired his suit. But Loki knew no man like Stark could ever turn his back on the promise of innovation and glory.

He had watched him during his time on Midgard. It had been a hobby of sorts - a passing interest. When Loki had traveled through these skies in the midst of battles before, his emerald eye had caught the glimpses of red and gold flying through the air. He had appreciated the dry humor and wit of the man who had been brave enough to stand against him unarmored. Stark had challenged him with his mind and tongue rather than with brute force. It had been a refreshing change in the repetitive tides of battle. The metal man did not rely on his strength to keep him alive, as was the fault of many a hero. Instead, Stark relied on his mind. Just as Loki did.

Stark's intelligence was a subject just fascinating enough to keep the Asgardian entertained during his time on this hated planet. With the help of magic and illusion Loki had kept himself near, exploring the man's world as the silent observer. He inspected the machinery and watched the mechanic work. He gained the knowledge of this world through this man, holding audience as technology that Asgard had long known and the new ideas of this single human were brought together through scientific exploration. It was more than impressive to see unfold.

Later, when the woman known as Potts left the man, Loki had been present to see Stark rebuild his mechanical suits. His collection was reborn now that she was gone, painstakingly rebuilt piece-by-piece by a broken man. Loki looked on the process with curious eyes, taking in every detail of change that Stark underwent in the face of heartbreak and pain. The void had swallowed him as quickly as it had swallowed Loki. This drew the observer's attention even closer.

Where Loki had filled that void with hatred, anger, and revenge, Stark filled his void with work, technology, and knowledge. He spent countless hours in his workshop, sometimes going for days without sleep or nutrition. His only companion was the house, which had the odd and frequent tendency to communicate with it's Master. Loki had first thought this JARVIS stolen magic from some other realm, but soon discovered that the programmed computer offered a far colder answer to the voice's origin. It was pathetic.

Even so, Loki knew that if he had been given the choice to have the silence of the universe as his company or the sarcastic tones of this programmed interface as his company in torture, he would have done the same as Stark.

* * *

Loki would watch him for three-hundered and eighty-five days. This time as the observer to Anthony Stark's life was not consecutively served, but it was nevertheless the majority of Loki's time spent on Midgard. He could not help but find the entrepenuer enthralling. They shared the same mind for knowledge, with tongues as sharp as a dagger and as deadly as a bullet. In that, Loki found another person who had the promise to be an equal to him.

There were too many parallels between the man of iron and the trickster. Both had been betrayed and alone. Both had fought to escape and survive their torturers. They were each far more intelligent and cunning than their peers, their minds matched by few others. With wit unmatched and controls in check, both Loki and Tony were cut from the same cloth.

A part of Loki wondered if their pasts could be forgotten.


	3. Shrapnel

"The red wire, Stark, unless you prefer to allow your machines to smash you against your rooftops."

There was a clatter and a snip, then a small explosion and a thud of a body against cement. Loki could do little more then smirk as smoke flooded the room and gravity returned Stark to the ground with the promise of another loud crash. But the crash never came, despite Tony preparing himself for it. He hit something soft instead of concrete-hard, confusing him before it surprised him. His head still spun from the first contact, his heartbeat throbbing in his head.

"Humans. Feeble and fragile."

Stark knew that voice. Instinct made the attempt to move his muscles and snap him up to his feet, ready to call a standing-by suit to his body. But he found he could not move. Eyes now open and processing his world, he could see the floor was about a foot below him – he was floating, paralyzed, some inches off the ground. And now, slowly, he was being turned so that his eyes would face the cracked ceiling instead of that floor. Then he found himself lifted to a vertical position, met with the curious face of a God.

_Loki._

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. He had seen the blonde-headed one just last month, heard the story fall from the God's ancient lips. Loki had died. Foster had attested to it. Yet, here he was, head tilted to the side as he studied Stark as the hunter studies his prey. He even had the same scepter in hand from the battle for New York, his haunting eyes now ages older than they had been before.

"And even so, you strive to make yourself better with these suits of Iron."

Gravity suddenly took effect and Stark found his feet the floor, soon staggering just a bit to keep himself upright. Tony shook his head in the desperate hope that this would stop the ringing in his ears, but his eyes were focused on the enemy that now walked about his workshop.

"I am not present here to spar with you, Stark." Loki said simply, his hands folding behind his back, "I come in the interest of your health."

Suspicion bloomed in the billionaire's mind. Loki's eyes darted to the ground beside him, then back up to his freed target.

"The fall will be shorter if you lay down."

Stark's eyebrow shot up. The faint smirk upon the Aesir's face welcomed no happy news.

"Wha-?"

Then pain hit him like a brick wall. His chest seized and pain shot up his legs like electricity as his knees made contact with the hard ground.

"Sir, a previously undetected piece of shrapnel has entered your heart. You are in cardiac arrest." JARVIS' voice informed, red lights beginning to flash from the corners of the room, "I'm requesting emergency service—"

There was a flash of green and the room was encased in darkness, all technologies halted with a pulse of magic. Loki approached Tony as he fell forward on the ground, able to easily tip him over onto his side with a simple nudge with his boot. Tony could see his enemy under the faint glow of green light that radiated from his palms, his own blue eyes filled with pain, fear, and hatred.

"You'll thank me later."

Loki knelt with dagger in hand and Stark's world went black. When he awoke later on the cold, hard ground, he would find a piece of metal encased in glass at his side and a burning wound upon his chest.


	4. Battles

Stark doesn't talk about that day. He sees Thor more often now on days of battles and blood, flying alongside the suit of armour with his ridiculous cape and physics-breaking hammer. Tony knows better than to give him the glimmer of hope that Loki is still alive. It would threaten to break the loveable oaf. Thor had lost too much all at once.

So when the battles are done and the fights are won, Tony retreats into his tower and works. He ignores the scar on his chest and the glass cube that contains a piece of shrapnel, working until sweat beads on his brow and hunger and thirst demand his attention. He refuels and begins again, the cycle sometimes unbroken for days until sleep no longer allows the mechanic to ignore it.

Tony works, fights, and survives. He continues on alone because he knows better than to allow anyone else into his life. JARVIS and the suits are enough. They have to be.

But that doesn't stop him from feeling like there are eyes ever on him.

* * *

On Christmas Eve Tony sits at his desk, the screens of his computer dimly lighting his face in the dark room. He drinks to forget he should be upset about being alone. It works, for the most part.

He finds himself playing with the cube he left on his desk too long ago, examining the shrapnel that lies inside. Part of him knows he should sue the doctors who operated on him to hell and back for missing this single, sly killer, but his other half knows that there would be no point. He's always been living on borrowed time. He should have died in the hell hole in the desert.

The cube brings back too many memories. Memories of the Tesseract and the Battle for New York, of the endless universe that had nearly swallowed him whole in the midst of battle. It makes his heart race again and his head hurt, but he can't close his eyes to shut out the light from his screens. If he closes his eyes he returns to the darkness, where he can see pale skin and green eyes gazing down on him. Anxiety flares as he remembers the grip of death. How many more times could he possibly escape it?

"Yes, dwell on all the reasons, Stark. Wonder why an enemy would waste time saving you."

Tony jumped up, not drunk enough yet to have his world spin about him as he did so. His attention shot over to the other side of the room, where those terrible green eyes stared back at him. Loki was leaning against his bar, glass of liquor in hand.

"Perhaps I decided it was time to seize your offer of alcohol." he said coolly, the contents of his glass swirling as his wrist moved idly side to side, "Have you objections, man of Iron?"

* * *

S.H.E.I.L.D had not been pleased by Stark's lack of cooperation over the Holiday season. There had been reports of a battle on the rooftop of the Stark Industries tower, one that had rained glass down on the streets and pedestrians below. Some onlookers claimed he had been fighting a man of green and gold. Others said he had been fighting no one, overtaken in a spell of madness to fight invisible monsters on his rooftops. Half the world had assumed he had gone mad since Pepper had left him – a few absences for a handful of parties was suddenly the means for concern and speculation when it came to Tony. After all, his reputation did precede him.

Christmas Eve had been a battle, in truth. A battle that had broken a majority of his windows, tragically spilled one too many cases of fine alcohol, and beaten up a number of his suit's. But it had all been Tony's doing and choice. That could not be denied. Loki had not wanted to fight him. All his moves had been defensive in their skirmish, the Trickster never once moving for the offensive attack. He had simply evaded until Stark had made it clear that he was not giving up. It only frustrated Tony further to remember that smirk that had been plastered on Loki's face as he had made himself disappear from sight.

_Until we meet again, Stark. I shall have that drink._

S.H.E.I.L.D had been breathing down his neck for months now, demanding answers about the photographs of the battle from their satellites. The figure that bore an uncanny resemblance to Loki in them was refuted by the billionaire. Thor denied the claim when presented with the images. He had collected his brother's body from Svartalfheim himself and given it a proper Asgardian burial.

But Tony knew better than that. He knew what he had seen. It wasn't some anxiety-driven, post traumatic stress disorder fueled hallucination. That had been Loki in the flesh. Alive, vibrant, and laughing.

* * *

Stark was falling at a fatal speed. The suit around him was completely dead, its emergency energy stores depeleted and its build cracking and falling apart. In what seemed like an instant, the suit had simply broken away and he was falling, falling, falling faster than ever before. The wind ripped at his bare skin, pulling at pieces of torn fabric and stretching open his wounds. Tony might have even seen his life flash before his eyes if he wasn't so busy watching the pieces of his suit break away from each other in the skies above him.

_Can't escape death forever, Tony. It's always been borrowed time._

He closed his eyes. Fear gripped him like a vice. He felt a cold embrace him, pressed tight against every inch of his exposed skin. It reminded him of the Mark VII suit that had saved him in a similar situation, but those bracelets were far gone now. That suit was at the bottom of the ocean, buried with the crumbling ruins of his old cliff-side home. But even now, the memories of that moment were so vivid; the grip of steel and the sound of machinery moving against his body were filling his senses.

But this wasn't New York. This wasn't that battle. There was no Hulk to catch him before he hit the ground, no suit to come to his rescue. This would be the end.

He opened his eyes in hopes of seeing the sky one last time, but instead he saw the backside of a mask. It was coming closer, moving to fit over his face and secure itself to the rest of the helm, which was already attached to the mechanic. Reality crashed over Tony as he realized a suit was indeed forming around him – the sounds of machinery and the feeling of cool metal on his skin wasn't some symptom of death or a vivid recollection of days gone by. It was happening.

A miracle powered the suit to life and the thrusters kicked into gear, rocketing the pilot up and away from the ground that had so nearly greeted him. Adrenaline lead the man to control the suit, which was buzzing in a way it had never operated before. There was a new ringing in his ears, a distortion to the control views, and an eerie echo to JARVIS' voice as the suit was restored to full power.

"Sir, the suit is currently being powered by an unidentified energy source." the computer informed him, " I cannot give you a proper calculation as to how long this will last. I recommend an immediate landing."

Tony blinked, shook his head, and opened his eyes fully. The shock was gone. He was still alive by the skin of his teeth and he was Ironman – he had a job to do.

"Roger that, JARVIS. Cap', stall him. It's time for an outfit change."

Tony can hear the echo of Steve Roger's acknowledgement. He returns to the tower with hands trembling ss he can hear the crash of Thor's thunder in the distance.

* * *

"Sir, I've analyzed the energy source."

Tony glanced up from his drink and swiveled in his chair, pushing himself to roll from one desk to the next. He stood as the hologram projections of his destroyed suit came to life over the table, spinning the model about with a flick of his wrist.

"Sir, it gives off the same energy readings as the Tesseract as well as another unidentifiable energy reading."

Tony frowned and dismantled his holographic suit, knowing full well that it never should have been able to reassemble like it did. He knew he should be dead.

"The Tesseract is in Asgard."

"Indeed, sir. But the Tesseract's energy can be used by mediums that it influences."

A model of Loki's staff from the Battle of New York materialized to his right, a series of data readings flickering to existence next to it. He examined it with wary eyes.

"The other energy source?"

"Not one that had any similar traits or qualities to anything on this world, Sir. My systems are not advanced enough to deconstruct and analyze it."

Though Tony could not see it, the Trickster who stood invisible at his side smirked.


	5. Night Terrors

Something was going to give. The ghost of Loki had become more present around the Stark Tower, the Trickster now taunting the billionaire. Things fell from the shelves and rearranged themselves on the desks in the middle of the night, usually after long spells of sleepless days. The suits changed color before Tony's eyes. JARVIS glitched and stuttered, sometimes becoming non-responsive. Tony had lost control of his tower. That infuriated him more than anything else.

Pepper was getting worried about him again. Steve Rogers was always checking in on him when he found a moment. All the Avengers, in fact, had begun to take a special interest in him. They worried and fretted over Tony, who was slowly being driven insane by his tower. But excluding his new poltergeist, no one entered his tower that was not welcome. Stark Tower was locked tight; soon, Tony let no one inside.

The nightmares were returning. When Tony closed his eyes, the expanse of the void was before him. There was a nuclear device on his back and he was falling, the suit was failing. People were fighting and dying all around him in the greatest city of his country. Gods had become real, living things. All Tony thought he knew was falling apart around him as aliens and wars were unfolding around him.

He always woke in a sweat. Sometimes, he awoke with tears. The dreams were evolving beyond just memories. Sometimes, the enemy won. Sometimes, he didn't survive the fall. Even worse, sometimes he did survive because the enemy had abducted him. He was tortured, dying, screaming...

Waking to the crash of thunder outside his bullet-proof windows, Tony found himself in a cold sweat. He twisted, turned, and jerked as he was torn from his dream. He could still feel cold hands, cold metal, and pain. The dream wasn't gone. He could still see the death all around him, hear the sounds of the city on fire, and feel the overwhelming expanse of the universe.

"You're on Midgard, fool. The void is far gone."

New cold hands were on his face. The touch was pure ice, cooling his fever and calming his panic.

"See me."

But Stark continued to hyperventalate. He was dillusional. Perhaps it was because the nightmares this man was having were about him, Loki realized. So with a breath and a pulse of magic, Loki changed his face.

"See me, Anthony."

A new voice spilled off his lips. A voice of a woman, calme and caring. She was the woman from the hidden family photographs in the warehouse – Loki had taken the form of Tony Stark's Mother.

The billionaire, his mind far gone in the throws of fear and pain, calmed at the sight of her. Loki wiped the sweat from his head as he might have for his own child, his new face the sight that this broken man needed.

"Go back to sleep. Peaceful sleep, lest your weak heart fails in the throws of night terrors."

Tony nodded, exhausted. For once, his genius mind did not try to deconstruct the scene before him. Fever accepted the comfort of this false-Mother.

"Mom..."

"Peaceful sleep, Anthony."

Loki passed a hand over his face, a green glow illuminating the worn features beneath. Stark's eyes closed and he rested, Loki's magic preventing all terrors his brain might conjure.


End file.
